


Kitchens were meant for sharing

by Dessoestma



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, death?, how to tag this, idk - Freeform, it's been two years since I wrote a fanfic sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 02:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dessoestma/pseuds/Dessoestma
Summary: Elias has a nice evening his kitchen :)





	Kitchens were meant for sharing

Many things were recalled to his memory for Elias whenever he walked through a kitchen door. The smell of spices; basil, oregano and rosemary. Some of the many herbs he had become acquainted with while helping his mother in the kitchen.

He walked past the entrance to his kitchen, switching on the light just before he walked through. He didn’t even need to look when he let his coat slide of his shoulders and he threw it, he’d done it so many times it was guaranteed to land on the back of his chair. He practically floated on his feet as he went to his kettle, switching it on. He was in the mood for a strong drink tonight - maybe something stronger later – but for now a strong coffee would do wonders to his tired mind.

This was a semi-new apartment but his kitchen was set as it always was – a table in the middle with 2 chairs, a counter populated with a kettle and a toaster, the oven laid squarely in the middle of the cabinets and the fridge rested by the single window in the room. His brightly lit room was one of many in the apartment block, he stood there and gazed at the neighbouring tower block, a sense of ease that spread through him was all too familiar.

There was another smell in his nose that he associated with the kitchen, the metallic scent of blood that often got stuck in his throat. He had found his mother dead in the kitchen with a knife in her back. His body had burned with revenge and while time healed most wounds, the scent of blood had never left his nose whenever he stepped foot into any kitchen. Sometimes it was like a bitter taste in the back of his throat; as he grit his teeth and cooked everything she had taught him and more to honour her memory.  
The bitter taste had eased with time, and it had soften its touch as he had patched and fussed over the wounds his best friend had accumulated over the years but had often refused doctor treatment for. He had stood by the table many the time with Anthony shirtless and still as Elias carefully stitch up any gouge or cut in his body that was deep enough to require it.

“Its fine, boss.” Anthony always said, but had stayed still for him nevertheless.

“It’s not fine, you’re bleeding all over my kitchen and on my carpets.” He had always protested.

Anthony had always spared him a soft smile at his weak protests and Elias had only scowled in return until he was done. He spared his smiles for cooking. And later on their soft smiles had followed them into bed as they slept together, cradled in each other’s arms.

This wasn’t here or there, today had been dull and grey as he went about securing his business. Today was a day where peace and quiet was swallowed with great reluctance. He hadn’t had such peace and quiet in over 40 years. There had been times when he was a young man that he had yearned for it and now that he had it, it was a bitter regret that swirled around his mind.

His kettle rumbled, bubbled, clicked and quietened – it was ready for him to pour a drink. He pulled a mug and his coffee out of the cabinets above the kettle, grabbed the sugar on the side and the milk out of the fridge. He lingered by the window for a moment, almost waiting for something to happen before remembering it was just him today. He moved himself and dumped everything necessary into his coffee. The coffee reminded him of the darkness that laid before his window. He put the milk in the fridge and brought his mug to the kitchen table. He sat in solemn silence as he drank his coffee. The caffeine inside did little for his waning energy levels. A good meal should fix that, he hoped.

“Hey Anthon-“

/Anthony isn’t here today./ He scolded himself.

He sighed and continued to sip his coffee. The caffeine continued to do nothing to his energy and he resigned himself to making them a simple meal rather than the complex ones he normally cooked for them both.

“Hey An –“

/He’s not here./

He wished he’d remember that. He was rather slow to get to his feet and even slower to gather the ingredients he needed for his meal. Something with pasta. A pasta bake? That was simple and easy enough. He grabbed the ingredients he needed and went to work.

The acts were so instinctively drilled into his mind that he could let his mind wander as he worked. Soon enough he had everything on the stove and he could take a rest. He sat down at the table and let his mind work through the day and the week that had gone by in little more than a jagged blur.

His body on autopilot when he rose from the seat he was in and put his pasta bake into the oven to cook for a little more time. His eyes fixated themselves on the clear glass for a moment, before he pressed his hands to his hips and back and straightened himself up slowly, holding pained noses behind his teeth. His back and neck throbbing to a degree as he stood up straight. He hadn’t realised he had been stood there staring for so long. He rolled his shoulders and let out a long sigh through his mouth and nose.

He went into a cabinet that held his wine glasses and selected one that held an elegant design on it. A design of roses that wrapped around the top of the glass. He smiled at the glass, it had been an anniversary gift from Anthony. He placed it as gently as he could onto the table. He’d be beside himself if it smashed, it was a one of a kind glass.

He stared at the glass with a fond smile for another moment, then walked over to his bottom cabinet that held his limited wine collection. He picked up a fine Pinot Noir that he had and placed it on the table. He went to his oven and took out his ever-so-slightly burnt pasta bake and placed it on the counter. He took out a plate and a knife and fork and plated himself some pasta bake and placed it very delicately on the table. He poured himself some wine and finally sat at his table.

He looked at the other seat that emitted glowing warmth and happiness, but for weeks now had been cold and lifeless. He picked up his wine glass and lifted it up.

“To Anthony.” He said to himself. “My old friend, my husband. I hope I brought you many joys in life just as you brought many to mine.”  
He drunk from his wine glass, and took the whole glass down in one big gulp.

That night in his empty bed, he reached out for a person that wasn’t there. His hands curled in sheets that would have been Anthony’s shirt. That night, just like the last few weeks, he cried himself to sleep.


End file.
